


The Wench is Dead

by antierotic



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 07:59:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2540297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antierotic/pseuds/antierotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carmilla finally gets the confrontation she's been waiting years for. However, when her eternal love states her price, she must make a decision between her past and her present; love demands a sacrifice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wench is Dead

You stifle a giggle at her frustration.

 

She’s pecking away, furiously, at her keyboard while you grin at the back of her head. There’s no way you are learning your lesson from this cold shoulder treatment.  Not as long as you’re picturing her scrunched-looking angry face that goes so well with those pink ears. Alas, you’ll always be notorious and resented for your mischief.

 

“Hmm,” you start, “Pretty chilly in here, isn’t it?”

 

The typing halts for a moment. “Don’t you dare start with me.”

 

You pick at the seams of your twin beds’ sheet, mocking innocence.

 

“I’m just _trying_ to get along here, sugar. Isn’t that what your cheery camp-counselor attitude is always going for?”

 

Silence. Being ignored doesn’t stop you, especially while this joke has gotten way too old.

 

“Look, it’s _really_ not a big deal, kid. It’s nothing you haven’t done with The Big Friendly Giant already.”

 

Laura finally whips around, pinched face still intact. “But it was in _my_ bed, Carmilla! I’m so sick of your stupid ‘study buddies’ overstepping every boundary! I let you have the cookies—Hell, I let you keep the pillow!” She turns around with another huff. Your cold, undead heart might just feel a tad guilty at this point. “It just was really uncool of you.”

 

There are several different impressions of yourself you seem to leave on her.

 

“And then—pow! She slashed it into bits like it was nothing!” Accompanied by a wild flurry of hand gestures, she’s bragging about you saving her from a pack of blood-thirsty library slime-monsters. Perry listens to the account very attentively as you pretend that you ‘re not overhearing. No one can see your cocky smirk that’s behind your weathered copy of _The Virtue of Selfishness._

 

You like all impressions, because they all seem to capture her attention.

 

Despite you being marked a traitor for throwing away your loyalty for saving a lowly freshman target, there is not much change in your affection towards the girl.

 

One day you’re trudging along back to the dorm, when you see her in your peripheral vision, laughing at a bench with a few classmates at a bench outside. It’s a beautiful sight to behold; there is a lot to be admired in camaraderie.

 

You try to walk along unnoticed, attempting to not disturb the group.

 

“Hey, Carmilla!”

 

She knows you can hear her, but even when you try to ignore the first greeting, she waves her arms back and forth with great exertion, calling louder until you acknowledge her.

 

Laura sings, “Scowl more and your face will stick that wa—y!”

 

The scowl deepens. That is, until you stick out your tongue in mock-bullying, which makes the girl giggle at your childishness. You hope she does not witness your partially suppressed grin as you leave her sight.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_“You came along because you want to know what happened to her didn’t you? You’re hoping that you can save her somehow?”_

A shivery burn tightens your belly. You all of a sudden regret revealing your tragic backstory.

 

“The wench is dead.”

 

Even though you say that, you’re terrorized that night.

 

The sea of blood.

 

The entire landscape is flooded, and only one person is wading in the liquid.

 

_“I’ve been waiting so long for you.”_

 

You’ve been waiting for this moment. Even though it’s a dream, you know exactly what this is. Trying to pace your movements, you slosh forward. It could have been hundreds of more years before you reunite, but your heart is screwing up and shriveling the closer you get.

 

It’s the white dress you’ve been hearing about. Ironically, she’s waist deep, but there’s not a single drop staining the immaculate cloth.

 

“Elle…”

 

She reaches up and clasps your face with two hands.

 

“ _We can be together soon, Mircalla… I’ve missed you all this time.”_

Hearing those words, you finally notice the striking facial resemblance this phantom has with Laura.

 

Your hope shoots through the roof of your chest, even while the reality weighs you down. Nothing is ever this easy. Love always has its sacrifices—and you give and give.

 

She then speaks the words you’ve dreaded to hear. This whole time, you wanted the opportunity to use your all to find her, but for the past few weeks, your anticipation has grown sour.

 

“ _You know what I need.”_ When you don’t answer, she continues. “ _To be able to return to you. How I long to see you again… to hold you like I used to.”_

You are wrapped up in a tearful embrace that has scarred your near-century. Her glistening eyes capture you as the blood rises. The sound of the swaying fluid hisses as the waves beat against you. 

 

“ _Please, help me come back to you. You know what we need…”_

The sea rises until you are both engulfed, forcing apart your hold on her with a strong current.

 

“ _Give her to me.”_

And somehow, you drown.

 

* * *

 

 

You awake with a start. Instantly in attack mode, you sit up immediately, fangs bared with a feral snarl.

 

The girl flinches, cowaring pathetically at the foot of your bed with the yellow pillow clutched close to her chest. Peeking out from over it, she gives muffled whispers in the moonlight.

 

"I know you really don't like this kind of stuff," she says, kicking her foot apprehensively. "But I just..."

 

"Spit it out, sunshine."

 

The condescending pet name seems like it kicks her too hard. Her eyes well up further.

 

"I'm really scared."

 

All of a sudden, a heavy stone forms at the bottom of your belly.

 

"Well, what do you expect me to do about it? Clear out the monsters from under your bed? Chase out the boogeyman?"

 

While you were still patronizing her, you knew full well she had every right to be afraid. At any point, some hellish creature could come for her. They all want to tear her apart. Every night, Laura sleeps with that stupid bear spray. You never have the heart to tell her it doesn't work on the undead. You pretend to sleep at night, but you can't block out her helpless sobs.

 

"Please, Carmilla."

 

She'll be forever indebted to you, but you have forever to redeem what she owes.

 

You scoot over, allowing some room in your twin-sized bed for her to drop onto. You can't help but notice her shivering and tear stains.

 

Finally, you add: "You know, I met the boogeyman. Let's say, he should be more worried about  _me_."

 

At least she gives a weak chuckle before exhaustion takes over.


End file.
